


Shortcomings of a Mourning Turtle

by choppy_citty



Series: Discord angst fics [2]
Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anyways, Arguments, Character Analysis, Donatello (TMNT) Needs a Hug, First Aid, Gen, Good Parent Splinter (TMNT), Hurt/Comfort, I HAD TO MAKE A SHELLDON TAG, I THOUGHT THE FATHER-SON DYNAMIC BETWEEN DON AND HIS SON WAS ESTABLISHED???, Multi Chapter, Oh also, Post Season 2, Rivals to Not So Rivals, Sad Donatello, TMNT headcannons, an angsty one, and introspection, but not totally heartless, but we do delve into other povs, don has an accident, donnie focused, ish?, just like slight empathy, kendra is a bitch, nothing wrong with the ship but this is not even platonic, plz dont interpret as Dondra, plz this poor kid he is so sad, repo and don are on good terms, writing this makes me eager for some raph angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29710029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choppy_citty/pseuds/choppy_citty
Summary: Donnie needs to figure things out with himself, but today seems like it won't be the day he will... Until he finds himself vulnerable with a foe.
Relationships: Donatello & Kendra (TMNT), Donatello & Leonardo & Michelangelo & Raphael & Splinter (TMNT), Donatello & Michelangelo (TMNT), Donatello & Repo Mantis (TMNT), Donatello & Shelldon (TMNT), Leonardo & Raphael (TMNT)
Series: Discord angst fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080413
Comments: 17
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *deep breath* ok, next up HAS to be Raph angst we've all been waiting too long BUT this has been nudging my mind a lot and I just wanted to dump in some headcannons- also, with BNCK2, I literally have the entire story line laid out to the end, I just can't write it like how I want to. I might have to do a lot of detail writing to really get down the proper story I want to convey- maybe I might rewrite the first 2 chapters we'll see.

It had been a chilly fall day for New York, gradually shifting seasons as the day cycle changed. The clouds billowed across the skyline as the wind cooled temperatures and bodies of water. Yet, the snow had decided the biting winds and thick cloud cover was still not enough for its presence, so civilians, recognized as a person or not alike, found the annoyingly undeserved sheet of ice just so lightly glazed on the surfaces of abodes. As was the predicament of one Donatello Hamato. 

“Guh, why can I never prepare ahead of time for the _ change of weather _ ? It is quite literally the most predictable occurrence in my poor excuse of a tragic living.” He laments as he comes out to the garage of the new lair to find that he had not equipped the Turtle Tank with chain treads. He had pleaded under his breath as he looked through every chamber in the tank and cabinet in the garage after he noticed the incline was too slippery for the tank to climb up. But his efforts were in vain when he popped his head up for the last time after hurriedly double-checking every nook and cranny. He sighs dejectedly, he’ll just have to travel airborne instead, running into the thing he wanted to avoid today; the weather.

He grits his teeth as he practically stomps back to his lab. It wasn’t that he disliked such weather, but it was easy to despise when you had to take certain precautions and the fact he wouldn’t be able to reap as many goods as he could’ve with the Tank and Spider Shell. The precautions being his fear of getting his jackets stuck in the rotors of his shell, which always brought shivers down his spine- unfortunately, this time literally, as he would have to fly holding his jacket instead of wearing it to minimize the possibility of it happening, and the fact he didn’t exactly want his Battle Shell/SHELLDON, surrogate son, to be exposed to such temperatures for a possibly extended period of time, even if its heating function would help him during transportation, as it could freeze up its mechanics.

In reality, the only reason the Softshell didn’t just give up and stay home was that he didn’t exactly _want_ to stay home at the moment, he needed to get out and move to get his mind off his own thoughts. He had still not settled into the new lair and it made him so uncomfortable to just exist in it at times as the sufferingly sad memories of the old home invaded his thoughts. At night in his dreams, he was subject to the painful vibrancy of dread and panic enveloping his chest as he witnessed the beautiful and sorrowful death of his grandmother- the Shredder taking her down as an alarmingly familiar feeling of the action striking across his own shell caused him to flinch. The excruciating expression his twin wore as he was dragged away just in time before his beloved tech-bo gave way to the debris. He always woke up from the disturbing flashbacks thinking that it was so  _ real  _ before realization dumped its freezing bucket upon him as he reabsorbed- each and every time- that it  _ had  _ been real. More than a few times he had sighed out in relief and giggled at the mere insight of it ever happening before the splash of anxiety would grip his senses and he abruptly stills to remember that it  _ had.  _ Those instances were always harsh; embarrassing as he let out tiny sobs of grief. 

It had happened last night, he was just too uncomfortable to be in the poor excuse this new home tried at being nostalgic, warm, or familiar. Too ashamed to be around his family after one of his manic reactions to his nightmares- should he really label them nightmares? They  _ did  _ happen after all. 

On top of that, as soon as Splinter had the spare time to provide after helping complete the new lair as much as he could, he had set up a traditional Japanese shrine for not just his own mother, but of their grandmother and Saki as well. All the boys had been hesitant to pray for the wellness of Saki at first, him being the source of their greatest anguishes. But in the end, they all knew it wasn’t really Saki, it was only his mind corrupted by the Kuroi Yoroi, so, soon after several nights of their father praying alone, Mikey had joined with his sympathetic nature, then Leo, his motivations unclear if he was trying to fulfill being a role model as the new leader or if he really was trying to move past it all. “Hey, Peepaw deserves some rest after 500 years being used as a teapot.” 

While it elicited chuckles of amusement from everybody, both Raph and Donnie had the hardest time coming around. Raph had endured so much as designated leader, throwing himself in front as the shield and big brother he was. Taking the majority of the Shredder’s hits and confronting him the most out of anybody else- his face to face confrontation with an armor adorned Draxum, unsuccessfully crushing a feral, insentient Shredder only to be knocked unconscious and left the younger brothers to fend it off themselves. Then getting crushed  _ by _ him while protecting his Softshell brother- something he swore he would do if anything like what happened at the docks would occur again (they all hoped he wouldn't need to act on that promise, those hopes were quickly dashed), and in the final battles, saving his immediate youngest brother from fatal death and having his mystic form ripped apart only to be narrowly saved by a still weakened Karai. It took him a long time to process that he wasn’t demoted exactly, just on paid leave. The fact had remained he would always be the protective, loving big teddy bear of a brother. Leo had spent many a night just being there for him, the two breaking the sudden, stiff tension gradually over the course of midnight tea times and mind-melding sessions, to finally get Raph to come to morning prayer.

But Donnie? He just didn't know what was coming over him, surely if  _ Raph,  _ the arguably most traumatized - although there really was no point nor was it healthy to compare trauma - of all his brothers could start healing, then so could he? Or maybe years of putting up his ‘emotionally unavailable bad boy’ facade really had stunted his emotional development...

So, a grand expedition for spare materials was in order; to escape this morning’s prayers. It was just too awkward sitting in the lab, knowing he was purposefully avoiding an important family gathering. Not that he was ever shamed for it, in fact, everyone treated him exactly the same, other than the occasional sad and pitiful look he caught them in that was sent his way every once in a while. He couldn’t stand those; if they had something against him- which they probably should- why not just confront him as much as he hates the idea himself? It was almost more heartbreaking them being merciful to him than spiting him for his negligence to his family’s honor. He reaches the lab, but not after awkwardly side-eyeing his kneeling family in the theater room, and removes SHELLDON’s flash drive from his Battle Shell, he doesn’t exactly want company at the moment, especially not if his beloved child figure was going to be subject to his discontent today.

He takes off his jacket to drop off the Spider Shell and fastens his Battle Shell. He lets out a huff, placing the flash drive in a locked drawer, and holding his jacket in the crook of his elbow. He leads his way to the garage exit once again. This time as he rounds the corner, he hides himself in shadows to observe his family, peacefully resting in front of the lit shrines. His mouth tightens into a shallow grin at the serenity. They all had their eyes closed, heads bowed, and hands either clasped together or resting on their thighs, even so, he knew that at least his father knew he was eavesdropping if his ear twitch was anything to tell. It was bittersweet, his family rarely ever had serene silences like these, and now they were slowly becoming a routine, just without Donnie. The guilt was enough for him to get a move on, shaking his head lightly and tapping to the garage exit to not disturb the warm ritual by using the atrium’s skylight. 

The frigid air hits him in his snout like a whip. He immediately finds refuge for his drying eyes behind the hetero-chromatic goggles he flips down. He blinks the newly forming tears away and sneezes. A sneeze his brothers would coo at like he was a kitten. He shakes his head as he flits off, gaining distance from the ground as he propels into the sky. He had no worries about people seeing him, as most people were stuck inside from the weather and the morning fog would shroud his form just fine anyway. He beelines for Repo’s yard, not thinking about much on his trip over, instead, admiring the frozen city from his bird’s eye view; he can see his warm breath turn to fog as he soars. He spots the yard, landing with a soft thump on the cold soil, and strolls in the front gate. Surprisingly, the mantis man had been leisurely about the junk Donnie took from his yard, (after the final battle with Shredder, it seemed a lot of things were seemingly magically cleared up between most of the turtles’ enemies), as long as the teen checked in with what parts he brought home and they could barter on the contents.

He flips up his goggles as he tours around, finding a nice mound to start off on. He heads to the North side of the yard and spots a decent-sized pile that he can immediately spot some circuit wire sticking out from at the top. A gust of wind blows through the valleys of piles and his spine shivers at the contact. He flicks through to the settings on his brace to the heat function in his shell and shrugs on his coat. He sighs out a breath in content as he gets to work, climbing up in the smooth ninja-like way he knows how and picks up what he identifies as a Roku that had the common red and blue wires strewn about. 

He starts rummaging as he lets his thoughts drift. As much as he claims he is  _ not _ , in fact, emotional, he contradicts himself almost every day, really, he just uses his sarcasm to put up a front. But he can never get over the way he fanboys over Atomic Lass, or fawns over another update he installs in SHELLDON. He can't help but be passionate, it was his nature, naturally, as someone who is always so enthusiastic and curious about anything and everything new. Even so, he can admit that he does tend to be one of the more serious of the Mad Dogs, even if it's not the level he thinks he is. The times he was seemingly unemotional was when he was focused on a project or analytical part of a mission, which was actually normal, of course, you’re supposed to be focused on business. Although maybe sometimes too much, especially after days being cooped up and being dragged out by the limb by a brother or two, then forced to slurp, chomp or crunch whatever sustenance was served at the designated feeding times.

He sighs as the food salad getting tossed up in his brain gets mushier and mushier- like the lettuce dried out and was rotting just minutes after it was turned into a meal, he knows he’ll have to truly sort out his thoughts and emotions someday, somehow, but that day is probably not today, so he pushes it all to the back of his mind and lets his brain numb out with calculations and schematics- y’know, the stuff he’s actually good at. 

He hums a familiar tune he must’ve picked up as a tot as he rifles through and stuffs a piece of rubbage or two in his shell. Mikey once commented how similar his shell was to Wall-E, and asked if the endearing garbage robot inspired some of the building, to his disappointment and Donnie’s chagrin, he said no, no his Battle Shell was not inspired by a musty little trash bot. His beak lifted a bit at the memory anyways. He wondered if the youngest brother was disappointed with him. Knowing his reputation as Dr. Feelings, he had surprisingly not confronted Donnie about any seminars at all. Perhaps he’d thought the subject was too sensitive, or that he just needed some time as they all did. As thoughtful- and probably true- as that was, there was nothing more that he needed than a visit with his favorite amateur therapist. And maybe a hug.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a series of unfortunate events

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the awkward transition in the middle, i wrote the second part of this chapter first lmao.

The day ticks by as the sun ends up sinking to an orange-peachish haze behind the darkened clouds. Donatello hardly lifts his head the whole visit, opting to ruffle through the scrap piles or zone out in thought-whether about his blueprints and ideas or about his lack of standing in his family alternate every time. Repo had only checked up on him in the morning, wondering what he was ruckusing around so early in the morning for, before shrugging and retreating to attend his own business. Now he’s back, telling the Softshell that time was up. “Alrigh’ kiddo, time ta get back t'yer own place, I’m lockin’ her up,” he calls up to the inventor, idly sitting on top of a pile, having caught him in one of his thought-induced spells.

“Uh, huh? Oh, ok I’ll be down in a sec.” he takes a moment to shake his head and refocus on the motherboard in his hands, before ultimately dumping it, not finding enough of its components appealing enough to keep and repurpose. He drifts down to the mantis man, his rotors sputtering as they revved. He grimaced- while that didn’t sound very good, it was probably only because he kept the heater on all day, walking for 20 or so minutes for the first leg of his travel back home wouldn't kill him. “So what’d you pick out today squirt?’ Repo rests his pincers on his hips, eyeing him up and down. Donnie hums as he sets his Battle Shell down like a backpack, shoving his arm in its compartment. “Let us see hereee,” he drawls slightly, fitting as many bits of knick-knacks as he can fit in a single hand. “A computer fan, some flash drives that still have a couple gigabytes on 'em that I can use, some HDMI's I've been meaning to get my hands on, and 5- no 6 rolls of half-used electrical and masking tapes.” He has to reach his other hand in to retrieve the sixth roll. “That's not much for a whole day’s work,” Repo raised a brow. "Eh, not really working on much at the moment, just need to stock up on some things and reorganize others,” Donnie shrugs. "Like yer thoughts?” Repo asks. Donnie looks at him suspiciously. “Ya really think I just let ya scavenge all by youself? Naw, I've seen you droning out all day, and I know those kinds of starin' games, whatever's goin' on, you make sure you get it sorted out 'kay? Youse too young for an existential crisis.” Donnie vocalizes a light-hearted scoff. “Scoff, as if I'm going to let some pesky feelings get in the way of my logical genius?” Repo rolls his eyes “Hey, hey I didn't means ta stoke the fire of your ego more than it already is, youse jus' make yer way, youse can keep it all,” he remarks good-naturedly with a wave of a pincer. Donnie watches him as he walks back to his trailer home, promptly closing the door behind him, before Donnie walks off, attention back to his wrist to shut off his shell for a little bit. 

Immediately he craves the heat radiating from his Battle Shell just moments ago, letting his leathery shell soak up the last traces before they died out completely. It was nearly evening so the cold was beginning to spike down again - he wasn’t expecting to stay at the yard for so long either, but time just kind of snuck by him and his overworked mind. He shrugged it off the first ten minutes, allowing himself to enjoy the season’s chilly weather without shivering as much as he could. That got old pretty quick, but if he wanted to get home in one quick go, he’d have to stave off the cold a little longer. He was soon jogging to try and warm up his muscles, but that only resulted in getting a stinging snout and dry lips. He licks at them as he realizes he hadn’t eaten anything all day, which was actually a normal phenomenon that happened once maybe twice every other week, but his weak stomach was not making it as easy as it normally could’ve been to jog out the rest of his wait- eating at the bland stomach acid. He sighs as he slows to a walk after only a minute or two. He promises his body a nice warm bowl of instant soba the second he steps into the new lair. He checks his timer: 7 minutes and 48 seconds. He rolls his eyes at himself for overreacting as much as he is, even so, he crosses his arms and starts rubbing at them, spikes shooting up his legs every time he takes a step on the icy soil. This is the longest 7 minutes of my life, Donnie thinks to himself, his shivering increasingly getting more violent, his shoulders jerking about and his toes numbing. He can't take the irritable ache in his limbs anymore as he sits on a log, crossing his legs and blowing warm air into his palms. He flicks over his wrist, his sleeve bunching up enough to see the timer reading 4 minutes and 28 seconds.

He almost couldn’t believe he was succumbing this quickly, but between his only sweater, the lack of nutritional value, and the encroaching evening, he thinks he can just about trace out all the variables impacting his physique. He's almost wondering if his Battle Shell will even cool down and reboot the normal speed it does, especially after tenish hours straight having its battery drained, when the 2-minute warning vibrates his wrist. He waits that extra minute before counting down under his breath like he’s counting the New Year’s Eve ball drop when finally the sound of his own voice reaches him. “Donatello you funky terrapin, your time’s up-,” “Oh bless Einstein’s IQ!” he all but cheers as he cuts off the alarm by swiping to his settings, immediately increasing the heat to eighty percent power. He relishes in the first warm rays of heat as the temperature slowly climbs higher. “Ah~” he lets out a delighted sigh in content before shifting his demeanor just a bit. “Now, to walk home agonizingly slow through the weather or to jet myself as fast as possible through the freezing skies,” He almost says it genuinely before opting for the obvious option, shrugging off his coat, the cold immediately hitting his very prone to cooling plastron, making him hiss, pulling further into himself and the heated shell. 

In the end, he knew he’d rather face the frost in his face for ten minutes than walk for another thirty, besides, it's not like he was going to another cold place, he was going back to his new home. So, without further ado, he activates his shell, allowing it to rev against the biting weather before lifting off, flipping his goggles back on. It goes smoothly at first, the only thing plaguing him being the drafts of wind rolling along his plastron and limbs, but then there’s a warning that pops up on his wrist tech. It reads: **Warning- systems faulty, hardware wiring**. At this, he raises a brow, wondering if the cold was really able to compromise some electrical wiring, it wouldn’t be the most far off thing, the heat probably caused condensation to settle over the delicate things and the twenty-minute walk must’ve been long enough to allow the perspiration to freeze over just enough. But it was a quick and simple enough fix he was about to ignore when this time beeping and flashing lit up his sight. This time it read: **Hardware Compromised.** And this time he takes notice, allowing him to hover closer to the building roofing he was gliding over. He’s about to check out the schematics of his Battle Shell when he hears the _tink-tink_ of a rolling piece of metal come from inside his shell and his expression stiffens. _T_ _hat can't be good_.

Immediately his shell’s rotors halted, sending the Softshell to sail over the buildings by his own built-up inertia. He lets out a shocked, but short-lived squawk before being thrown into a lamppost, his side whacking painfully against the iced-over metal and his vision blinding over in a dizzying stroke of color. A wave of nausea knocks off his loose hold of the pole before he unforgivingly crashes on the street below him and chokes out a cry. He lets himself gather his bearings before easing off the floor to sit on his haunches. He groans, hand over his bruising side, peeking around for any humans on the streets or the sidewalk. Luckily, it seems almost abandoned, the only thing catching his attention being a far-off “what was that?” from one of the apartment complexes to his side. As painful as his accident was, he’s almost grateful for the adrenaline now flowing through his veins, allowing him a few brief moments of invulnerability from the cold at the expense of his ribs as he flips up his goggles to run through diagnostics on his wrist tech. 

“No, no, nooo c’mon!” he huffs as he can see that a component was missing from the inner workings of his shell. Although he knew that now his shell was basically out of order, he wouldn’t know exactly what he should fix without a computer and tools to pry open his shell. He groans out an annoyed gasp, wincing at the ache that coursed through his side when he shifts. He hopes he knows where to go from here, a bird's eye is very much different from an ant's after all, unable to suppress the shivers that started down his spine now that he was calming down from getting bashed in his side. Looking around, he finds his sweater tossed a little ways from him. He goes to stand but slips at the sudden pang that spreads through his chest, swirling him into the beginnings of a headache. _Urgh, ok again, this time slower_ , he prods himself. When he’s on his feet he’s slouching, but standing in and of itself isn’t too bad. He gingerly walks to the sidewalk, passing the jacket and using his foot to lift it into his hand, not willing to bend his torso, and continued on his way. Criticizing himself for the stupid slip up, as he slides on his jacket, trying to ignore the stinging cold sidewalk every time he stepped.

* * *

He paced down the sidewalk, having taken two turns already, his hand moving across the buildings to support his weight as he went. As he trudged, he saw a flicker of lavender in his peripheral vision, at first he thought it was his sluggish brain seeing things, but tilting his head to double-check, he saw the leader of the Purple Dragons in all her snarky glory leaning against the lamppost across the street. His breath caught as he froze. He didn't need this right now, he was just hoping to get home without any further issues to distract him from keeping his head straight. At least it looked like she wasn't up to anything that would be troublesome right now, her expression nonchalant as she scrolled through her phone, attention not yet grabbed by his presence. It seemed teenage technology addiction was, for once, working in his favor.

But, if he didn't want to take the chance of being caught, he would have to round this next corner to drop down in the sewers, since he barely had the strength to scale the buildings much less jump over the roofing anyway. He could just barely recognize the streets he was on from the times he drove the Turtle Tank, even if he had barely any light in the sewers, he felt like he could make it back as long as he paid extra attention to his surroundings; there not being any street signs or landmarks to guide his way. He hoped to pizza supreme she didn't notice the movements he made as he started to slip into the shadows. 

But just as he let himself sink into the welcoming darkness, he heard her click her tongue and he whipped his head around, he swallowed dryly, their eyes locking from across the street. Her expression turned sour as he gasped and scrambled to reach the manhole in time, weakly limping as quick as he could to the end of the alley. He could hear the tapping of her boots, briskly traveling across the street, not caring if she was jaywalking. He practically fell on his knees to pry the cover off. Any other time he could just shove it aside and slide it back on like the habit he's used to practicing, hell the weight he threw at the Foot clan on Big Mama’s train was easily two times heavier. But he cursed to himself as his frozen fingers were too numb to keep their grip, so he used the garbage can next to him to hoist himself up. In his franticity, he opened the lid and threw himself in, clunkily flipping into its contents, biting his lip to prevent his grunts of pain from escaping him. He would've gagged at the smell if his snout wasn't so dumbed down from the cold.

“Hey!” Kendra barked into the alley, then she adopted a smug look on her face, finding amusement in harassing the turtle. “Donnie~ I know you're in here,” her voice was sickly sweet and he shuddered in anticipation. He could hear her teasingly stomping her boots, the clicking echoing in the alley. She kicks over every box and trash can in her way, instilling potential hesitance into her rival. She rounds the final bin, expecting to see him cowering behind it. “Aha!” but she comes across nothing and huffs in frustration. “Oi Donnie! I know you're here, I just saw you! Don't think you can run away from me," She looks all around the alley, but she doesn't catch the turtle inside the dumpster she just looked behind. She scowls “Whatever, I can just mess with his tech the next time I see him or something,” she mutters as she kicks the dumpster before she makes her way out. She knows he’s a ninja and knew a thing or two about getting around, but it threw her off he could get away from her so quickly compared to the other times she was able to outwit him. She casually checks her now ransacked environment in her doubting and comes up with an idea. She stops at the end of the alley and waits not even a minute before she can hear shifting.

”Bingo,” she smiles.

Donnie held his breath as she harassed the outside of his hiding spot, his nerves shaking from the extreme temperature and anxiety from Kendra’s presence. He muffles a yelp when she kicks the can, vibrations radiating up his back, shaking him more than he already was. As soon as it goes dead silent does he make his move, slipping out of the can as quietly as possible. It's tough, his middle is aching from balling up so tightly, and just lifting his leg over the side pumps the leftover adrenaline in his body from his mad dash for safety minutes prior. His arms shake as he props himself up to get one foot on the ground and pulls his torso out when he hears a loud “ahem” from behind him. He slips when he jumps in his surprise and his plastron harshly skids across the concrete and his inner thigh rakes across the lip of the container, eliciting a sharp hiss in alarm and pain. His cheek slaps the ground painfully and he’s stunned and winded. It takes him several moments of wheezing to collect his focus again to address the girl that was- apparently- awaiting his appearance.

“What do you want Kendra?” Donnie spat, not bothering to look back at her or move from his prone position on the chilly concrete. Kendra had given him a minute to see what he had to say but raised a brow at the seemingly struggling breaths he was taking before speaking; she shook off her intrigue. “What were you doing earlier? Stalking me?” she accuses. “What, no! In fact, I was purposely avoiding you- you saw me-” _running away_ “-you saw that I didn't even want to talk to you!” he stumbles across his words, trying not to let his teeth chatter and catching his close slip up. “Doesn't explain why I saw you just walking down the sidewalk, isn't that risky for mutants like you?” she states condescendingly. “What are you gonna do? Call the authorities?” he sneers. Though in reality, if she actually was planning to, that could spell trouble for him. “ Naw, I think I’m just going to let you walk away from this one, you look like you just got dragged anyway right now,” she says, commenting on his sagged stature and rough speech, bringing back her earlier curiosity. He dryly retorts “Then go back to your brooding post,” It was a weak comeback, but he didn’t have the will to annoy her so much that he could possibly lose the opportunity to freely leave. She rolls her eyes at the crappy half insult “No, why don't you go, you're the one so eager to get away from me,” She has a point, but she’s more interested in why he won't just stand up, even she remembers even when she strapped him to his own chair he held his own and was able to fully fight against the mech, even handicapped by the bulky weight. Or maybe he was just that motivated to save his brothers...

She hears a grumble and sees him slowly shift.

Donnie struggles to pull himself up again, having to slowly drag his legs under him to rest on his shins, the concrete unforgiving against his calves, he has to place both hands against the dumpster to pull himself up and is finally able to stand on his own, sweeping one foot to face Kendra, he's twitching and shivering from the cold, but he's up. Now he just needs to get her to move because in no way shape or form will he be able to just walk home on the streets, not after that fall. He needs to be able to freely limp back to his home from underground. If he's even able to lift that manhole cover. “ _Please move_.” he grits out, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

Now Kendra knows something is off. He sounds as if he’s about to cry, she had suspected maybe he landed on his arm weird or something of the like, but now it's clear whatever he had wrong with him had already been in effect before their encounter. It was probably why he looked more hesitant than spiteful when she looked at him earlier. She tests her theory a little. “Why should I? My 'post' is right behind me, if you're so adamant about wanting to leave you should just go, there's plenty of space.” she jerks her head to the easy clearing beside her. She wonders if he thinks she has something up her sleeve and was why she was cornering him, so she leans against the opposite wall, foot up, pulls out her phone, and waits. 

_Oh this bitch_ , Donnie thinks blearily, squinting at the bright opening ahead of him. He notes the irony of the situation as he drags his form down the alley. How he desperately doesn't want to go to the light but knows he has to anyway as the thumping in his ears gets harsher and harsher every time he takes a step, he tried not to cradle his ribs, but the pressure of pressing down his foot was too much not to wrap himself up. If he didn’t keep his act together, he’d never be able to walk down the street to another way to the sewers, much less get out of here. But the closer he gets, the more he’s forced to close his eyes, as the New York street lights get too much for his senses. He can barely feel his feet carry him when he collapses. 

Kendra immediately straightens from her position against the wall. She had been slyly eyeing him his whole journey, watching him drag his feet at a painfully slow pace, when he fell with his next step just shy of the sidewalk, at her feet. She stares at him bewildered. _What the hell just happened?_. She crouches down and takes her hand out of her jacket to tap his hand, and immediately recoils; it was stinging cold, and the errant shivering made his inexpressive form eerie. She checks his pulse and just barely finds it, weakly beating against her pinkie finger. She almost shrinks away again when Donnie hums and moves his head to lean against her hand, trapping it lightly between his clothed shoulder and cheek. She twisted her hand to cup it and felt it was dreadfully cold as well. She frowns at the paleness of his face. 

Did this guy just let himself succumb to hypothermia? While it was cold, it hadn't snowed, the biting winds had increased the feel by a dozen degrees sure, but it wasn't nearly cold enough to just faint without already neglecting yourself. She glanced at his legs, while he wasn't wearing pants, it wasn't uncommon, anytime he wore his sweater he didn't seem to need them, but she could see his thighs quiver against the asphalt. Why had he gone outside so ill-prepared? It was out of character for the seemingly genius tech whiz. He would know his own limits, and she didn't think he was ambushed by any unsuspecting weather, it had been mild and consistent the whole day. Ugh, what did she know about mutant turtles? She knew reptiles were cold-blooded and that they constantly needed heating and cooling to stay regulated, but she didn't know the consequences were this harsh on their bodies. 

She sighed in quiet resignation. They technically were rivals and she made him hate her guts, and while amusing and vice versa when he foils her plans and indirectly gets her on house arrest, she wasn't about to let a kid half die at her feet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> make no mistake, manhole covers are heavy as hell, and was Donnie's weak ass comeback so lousy because I myself am absolutely horrible at insults? Yes, yes it is. Also, semi cliffhanger, hooray!


End file.
